Never Going Straight
by BlissfulBlink7
Summary: :/Cursery: The Crooked Man and the Crooked Cat/: It could have been perfect.


The Crooked Man, whose hunched posture was a vision of menace and long, swindling limbs pictures of malevolence, was sprawled on the creaking mattress of his barely used bed, writhing and groaning at the sensations running through him. At another pass of her fingers, his usually bent spine arched to a perfect bow and his spidery fingers clenched the sheets beneath. A sharp cry erupted from his mouth, his voice low and gravelly. The woman kneeling between his legs smiled as she withdrew her hand and placed it on his tensed thighs, massaging the stiff knots that formed there. At the loss of the warm contact, the Man groaned and thrust his bare hips up. It had seemed desperate, but he wouldn't know that in this aspect; a century looking for a lost love by kidnapping innocent women was his ultimatum of desperate. And besides, his trousers had been disposed of since who-knows-when.

Her chest rose up at his actions, her bosoms catching more of the cold wind that bit on her dusky nipples. She swallowed a small moan, restraining herself from giving away that she had wanted this as much as he did; but she didn't bother keeping her hand from reaching out to his slick hardness and pumped him in long, gradual strokes.

"Ah!" He moaned and threw his head back. His chest heaved at the erotic and torturous waves coming from the dancing warmth on his prick and on to the rest of his body, running in melodious surges yet erratic in their impact that left him incoherent of intelligent speech asides from desperate pleas. "Don't stop, don't stop!" His hips started thrusting into her hand, synchronizing with her tantalizing pace.

_Oh goodness._ She gulped at the way he was making love with her hand. A shaky moan escaped her lips as she watched the constrained pleasure etched on his face, on how he was loving this sexual stupor between them. He was gorgeous, with his aqualine nose and strong jaw, chapped lips and pale skin. Heavy lines ran across his eyelids and underneath his eyes on how tightly he shut them. She leaned forward to further admire his face, and when she did, she realized how heavy her breasts were feeling from arousal. With her free hand, she cupped her right breast and started kneading the ample flesh and switched to another. A wanton sound erupted from her lips as her aching parts were soothed. She closed her eyes, relishing the combined sensations of the Man's hardness in her palm and her breasts' softness on the other, until she heard a choked sound and felt his cock increase its rutting within the compass of her hand.

He thought that having her stroke him so lovingly was already ecstasy. He was feeling something that felt unreachable, but was veering towards that certain point. He could feel it in his gut. Whatever it was, it felt wonderful, and he would be arriving there any minute now. An enticing sound distracted him from his thoughts and he opened his eyes, then, _dear Mother Goose, _ he felt himself reduced to a thin line that was going to break any minute now. She was deep in pleasure as she touched herself, rolling those lovely round beasties in her hand. The sight was absolutely enticing and erotic, burning into his mind's eye. A strangled noise got caught in his throat, and his hips began thrusting frantically into the circle of her hand in its own accord. She caught up with his pace, making the sounds of flesh against flesh echo loudly in the room.

His red eyes never leaved her body, her face, her actions, and he wondered if he could replicate her like this in paint and paper. He'd have to try hard, of course, for such beauty would demand great skill and devotion.

He watched as her free hand left her gorgeous tits, her fingers tracing the low dip of her waist, the generous curve of her hip, the strong lines of her thigh, then down below his prick. She opened her palm, touched his balls, shoved it up and began massaging it. He moaned loudly, feeling overwhelmed by this new surge of pleasure running through him. Now, his mind was completely shut and he let himself go lax at whims of his body.

Her back was turned to the sleeping man. Their escapade had been grand, and she was glad to see such a vulnerable side of him. She loved how she made him squirm, beg, plead and moan, especially in the last moments of their tryst when he seemed to give his whole self over to her. The fact that she had the infamous Crooked Man wrapped around her finger excited her, and everything could have been so perfect.

Could have been.

Until he reached his climax and shouted another name, the name of the woman whom he believed to be her, but she knew was not her, and whom she could never be.

_Cheryl._


End file.
